My nonno was a Leo, just like me, so my mom would often compare my headstrongness to his. This always made me happy because he was a clever man who loved to create things, every thing, and I wanted to be just like him. (Except for the thick eyebrows, which my mom said I also got from him.) He'd draw and paint and always had room in his house for a stray animal. Most of their animals were strays, actually. I'd sit down and watch him tinker away in his workshop, or watch him make tomato sauce from his giant home garden, how very Eye-talian. At that time my attention span was short and it felt like he'd spend an eternity on the same batch of tomatoes. Of course he was a soccer fan, and he'd give me a toonie for every goal I scored when I had a game. My mom used to say that his red hair (later turned white) matched his fiery temper, and he looks like a proper mafioso in our old photo albums. But Leos are ruled by the sun, and the sun was what brought him down.
On the day that he died, he was ventilated and seemed to be beyond consciousness. (Years later I'd finally understand what "palliative" meant.) But when I held his burning hot hand, he squeezed back.
I wonder what he'd think of me now.
